


Revival

by Odontodactylus_scyllarus



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Erebor, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odontodactylus_scyllarus/pseuds/Odontodactylus_scyllarus
Summary: Smaug awakens.
Kudos: 1





	Revival

The thief is gone. He has fled unseen but not unnoticed by the back door.

Mountains of gold and mithril and precious stones decorate the floor, inspiring awe no longer with their beauty and fine craftsmanship, but rather by sheer gross magnitude.

The gold glimmers softly in the dim halls, a wan light unto itself; remnants of an age of glory shattered and long passed.

The large orange eye blinks the gold from its scaly lid, puffing a breath of hot steam from its now exposed nostril. The mountain sheds gold as the dragon rises.

A low rumble emits from the dragon’s throat, and the gold slides and tinkles softly. The dragon’s back and leathery wings break the surface of the hoard, whose edges slip outward as the mountain sinks to the floor.

Smaug raises his head, gold sliding over his brow, between his eyes, down his nose to fall and land, leaving small divets in the sea of precious metal. His scales have a grey, tarnished sheen, but beneath the grime, their true scarlet gleams.

Smaug lifts his tail, bringing with it a wave and shower of gold.

His muscles strain as he rolls his shoulders and extends his wings, releasing their hidden cache and nigh on a century of repose to the floor. He rises to his haunches, lifting his head to the cavernous roof of the mountain kingdom, exposing his belly-armour of stolen treasure, letting out a terrifying roar, a thundering rage.

_I will get you, little thief._

He drops back to his front legs, sending up waves of gold with his murderous talons which, despite his hold on the mountain, have never been strong enough to leave so much as a scratch on anything but the front gate, which lies in ruins.

He steps towards the wreck, snarling, and with a giant bound he lunges into the dark sky. He lets out a stream of flame in his wrath, surrounding himself in fiery fury.

The fire is extinguished quickly in a wisp of feathery orange in the cold night air, but its light remains. The pallor of Smaug’s tarnished scales has been seared away, and he glows, a monstrosity of the very flame he breathes.

His roar echoes across his desolation as he soars over the mountainsides, circling.

Within the ancient halls, the gold gleams anew, lit with a fresh light, a soft glow creeping in by the back door.


End file.
